


Spitfire

by pinecovewoods



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M, also hc that race grew up in brooklyn, and then moved to manhattan, badass brooklyn chick, just a fight scene at the beginning but nothing too graphic, little bit of violence?, thats some of the backstory, who i aspire to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 05:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16867186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinecovewoods/pseuds/pinecovewoods
Summary: "You don't think that's them?" Specs whispers, trying to keep himself from being overheard. "I mean, she's from Brooklyn, and she took down the Delancey's by herself.""I ain't heard nothin' 'bout Spits bein' a girl," Mush replies, "but I suppose it could be."





	Spitfire

She makes her way across the Brooklyn bridge, newsie hat tucked into the band of her suspenders and her hands shoved in her pockets. Crossing the boarder line - standing in Manhattan- she continues unbothered, a few glances here and there but no one feels the need to question a girl walking around the streets in the afternoon. That is, until them.

"Well well well, what do we have here?" 

"Seems like she's lost, Oscar, and we, being gentleman, should help her out, don't you think?"

She turns, hands balled into fists in her pockets.

"I ain't in need o' help, thanks," she grits.

"Well what do you know, we gots us a new newsie, don't we?" The one named Oscar says, sickening grin on his face. "And you know what we like to do with newsies, Morris."

"My skull busting arm could use some work today."

She does what she can to hold back the smirk that wants to spread across her face as the two boys step closer, Morris's fists halfway raised.

She takes him first, her fist connecting with his jaw hard enough for a crack to echo through the street, the boy falling to the ground with a thud. Oscar comes next, but three successive punches to the stomach and one to the ribs is enough to cause him to fall right next to his brother. 

"Don't mess with Brooklyn," she spits.

"What the hell..."

Her gaze snaps up, eyes falling on two boys standing a few feet away with open mouths.

"You did this?" The one with glasses asks, eyes wide.

"Yeah, what's it to ya?" She asks, examining her bruised knuckles. 

"He's gonna wanna meet her, Specs," the other boy says, pulling on the brim of his cap, "you new?"

"I'm from Brooklyn," she replies, "Spot Conlon sent me, I gotta message for Jack Kelly."

"Oh hell," the boy with the glasses mutters, "alright, come with us, Mush 'n I'll take you's to Jack."

She places her hat on her head, following the two teens through the streets. 

"You don't think that's them?" Specs whispers, trying to keep himself from being overheard. "I mean, she's from Brooklyn, and she took down the Delancey's by herself."

"I ain't heard nothin' 'bout Spits bein' a girl," Mush replies, "but I suppose it could be."

"Is there somethin' I's should know?" Her voice breaks the two apart, both turning to face the Brooklyn teen.

"Nah, we's just discussin' the days headlines," Mush lies smoothly, "c'mon, almost there."

They reach the Lodge soon enough, Specs leading the way up the ladder to the roof where Jack resided.

"Jack, you's gotta visitor from Brooklyn," the boy says, moving out of the way of the girl.

Jack looks at her, nodding after a few seconds.

"Thanks boys, I's can take it from 'ere," he says.

They stand in silence until the two others are gone, Jack nodding once again.

"Spot tol' me he would send someone if he was joinin'," he says, "didn't realize he'd be sendin' Brooklyn royalty," he smirks, bowing over dramatically.

The girl rolls her eyes, punching the boy in the arm.

"You come to us, it's our turn t' come to you," she says, "jus' so happens Spot knows I's can take care of myself in Manhattan betta than the others."

"Anyone cause ya any trouble?" 

"Don't be surprised if the Delancey's show up tomorrow with a few bruises."

"Can we expect Brooklyn to make an appearance also?"

She reaches into her pocket and hands the paper to him.

"We'll be there," she says, "you's doin' the right thing, Jackie boy, I's always thought that from the start."

"Thanks Spits," he says, tapping the paper against his hand, "means a lot, your approval."

"If I 'ad had it my way we woulda been with you's since the beginnin'," she says, shrugging, "doesn't matta now I guess, we'll see you's tomorrow."

"Lemme senda boy with you's to walk home," he says, "just in case the Delancey's come back afta you."

"I think I can handle myself," she says.

"I know you's can," Jack replies, "but it'll make me feel better, can't have the number two newsie in Brooklyn gettin' hurt on my turf. Spot would kill me."

"It's a long walk," she says, "he'll be back late."

"Fine with me."

The girl shrugs, knowing that there would be no changing his mind.

"Who's it gonna be?"

Jack whistles, eyes darting to the ladder of the pent house. The girl turns her gaze also, heart stopping as another boy comes into view.

"Tony?"

Race freezes at the sound of his real name, eye snapping to the girl.

"Shit," he whispers, "Y/N?"

Jack's eyes widen, shifting between the two.

"You two...you two know each other?" He asks, a light laugh leaving his lips. "Well I'll be damned."

"Yeah I uh..." Race shakes his head, clearing his thoughts as he looks back at Jack, "I spent some time in Brooklyn before I's got here."

The girl scoffs.

"Yeah, jus' like I spent 'some time' soakin' anyone that gave me trouble."

"Racer I uh..." Jack shakes his head. "I need ya to walk Spits back to Brooklyn, make sure the Delancey's don't give 'er any more trouble."

"Spits," Race repeats, once again looking back at her, "you mean to tell me that you're Spitfire?"

Jack notices the rise in tension, running a hand through his hair uncomfortably.

"Seems like the two o' you's got lots to talk about," he says, "best be on your way, 'fore it gets any darker."

Y/N turns on her heel without another word, practically jumping down the ladder as Race scrambles to follow her.

"Kelly's wrong, I ain't in need of an escort," she says, "I's already soaked the Delancey's once today, ain't no way they're comin' back for more."

"That explains why your knuckles is black 'n blue," Race says, falling into step beside her, "can't believe that all this time I knew who Spits really was."

The girl stops in her tracks, pushing Race against the wall.

"You tell anyone anything," she grits, "and I will personally kick your ass."

"I don't doubt that at all," Race replies, eyebrows raised as he looks at her, "now is you gonna let me go or is we gonna stand 'ere all night?"

Y/N sighs, releasing her grip on the boy. 

"You's didn't tell Jack 'bout your time in Brooklyn," she says quietly, starting to walk again.

Race fixes his shirt, swallowing thickly.

"Nah I...I didn't," he admits, "when I showed up at the Lodge however long ago he asked 'bout my accent. I's told him it was because I grew up movin' between Manhattan and Brooklyn, which is true, but I didn't tell him exactly how much time I spent on the other side o' the bridge."

"You's spent four days a month in Manhattan, Race," she shakes her head, "but whatever, I gets it."

"Spits it's not like that I-"

"No, I get it," she cuts him off, shoving her hands in her pockets, "Brooklyn 'n Manhattan have never gotten along well, is what it is."

The teens walk in silence, Y/N fiddling with her suspenders nervously.

"How's Spot?"

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head a bit.

"Spot's fine, he's the King of Brooklyn," she replies, "doin' better than any of us, I'd say."

"I wouldn't," Race replies, "I mean, you should hear how some o' the boys talk 'bout you, 'bout Spitfire I mean. They're terrified of you, but like...in the best way."

"Yeah well..." she shrugs, kicking a rock with her shoe, "you left, and Spot wasn't 'bout to let me ride along without payin' my dues."

They walk down the street, the sky growing darker with each step. They hit the Brooklyn bridge as the sun is setting, and - before he could stop himself - Race pulls the girl to the railing next to him.

"What th-"

"Shh, just look," he points at the setting sun, half a smile on his face, "beautiful, don't you think?"

"I..." she trails off, nodding, "yeah, it is."

"You don't get this view in the city," Race sighs, leaning his head on his fist, "I used t' come out to the bridge jus' to watch the sunset, 'til Spot started sendin' boys out to guard the border."

"He did that after you's left for good," she explains, "didn't want you's comin' back, not after you joined Manhattan."

"We betta get goin'," Race says, eyes dimming, "Spot 'ready hates me enough, don't need you bein' late added ont' my list."

They continue in silence, crossing the line into Brooklyn. Y/N's shoulders relax, immediately feeling more at ease in her own turf, while Race hunches over a bit, trying to make himself seems smaller than he is.

"There's a few boys here that are probably still a bit mad that I left," he tries to joke, "don't wanna risk pissing them off even more."

"Don't worry, ain't no one gonna mess with ya while I's here," she says.

"Ya know I..." he trails off, shaking his head, "I wanted t' come see you's after I left, really. But Spot put the boys at the boarder and I...I guess I thought you didn't wanna see me."

"I'm glad you didn't," she admits, "I most likely woulda soaked you in the face if I saw you in Brooklyn again."

"I made you that upset?"

Y/N stops walking, leaning against a brick wall. She drags a hand over her face.

"You...god Race you pissed me off more than I's can describe," she sighs, "you's were my best friend, even more than Spot. I trusted you with more than I trusted anyone else with."

"Look, I'm sorry that I left," Race says, "but it ain't all my fault. Spot made me choose, you or Manhattan an-"

"What do you means, me or Manhattan?"

Race stops, swallowing a bit.

"I means..." he sighs, "I means that the only reason I kept goin' between Brooklyn and Manhattan is you, Spits. And when I told Spot how I's felt he flipped."

"Stop," she whispers.

"No, you have to know," Race steps closer to her, "I told Spot how I felt 'bout you's, and he told me to choose. I had t' pick, you or Manhattan, you or...you or my family," he pauses, shaking his head a bit as his gaze drops, "them boys are everythin' I got, ya know, and I couldn't leave them, I'm sorry. And I tried to get Spot to let me's come see you but he wouldn't, 'n I stopped tryin' after a while. I never thought I'd see you's again, if I's honest."

"Shut up!" She practically shouts, pointing a finger at him. "What, you thinks you can just spill out some tragic story and I'll forgive you? Doesn't matta why you's left, Anthony, you just left, so shut up."

Race's eyes blaze at the use of his full name and he steps closer, her finger now pressed against his chest.

"Whaddya gonna do, Y/N?" He asks, eyebrows raised. "You gonna soak me? Go ahead, I know you wants to, and I knows I deserves it."

"Shut. Up." 

"Make. Me."

She stares at him, and he stares at her, and they stare at each other for what feels like years until the girl grips the front of his shirt, pulling his lips down onto her own in one swift movement. 

Race barely holds back the noise of surprise that wants to leave his throat, eyes fluttering shut as he sticks one arm out near her head, steadying himself against the wall. His other hand cups her cheek, tilting her head up slightly. His chapped lips press against her own as they kiss, Y/N's grip on the front of his shirt tightening with each passing second.

The boy pulls back reluctantly for breath, his eyes barely opening.

"Race I-"

"Shut up."

He connects their lips once again, Y/N tugging on his suspenders to pull him closer. They pull apart and reconnect multiple times, each teen taking in short breaths between kisses. They're pressed together, chest to chest, until a cough pulls them out of their trance.

"Shit," Y/N swears quietly, eyes landing on the Brooklyn leader, "hey'ya, Spot."

"Hey yourself," Spot replies, half a smirk on his face, "whadda we gots goin' on here?"

Y/N lets go of the boys suspenders, nervously fixing the hat on her head.

"It's uh..." she shakes her head, "Racer here was jus' walkin' me back. Kelly sent him."

Spot raises his eyebrows.

"Oh yeah, I can see that," he says, gaze shifting to Race, "never though I'd see you's in Brooklyn again."

"What, you means after you basically kicked him out?" Y/N asks.

"Spits, don't," Race mutters.

The girl shakes her head, pushing herself off of the wall and walking towards the leader.

"You made him choose, what the hell is that about?" She asks. "And you never once asked how I felt 'bout it, how I felt 'bout him...god Spot I thought he left us, left me. I hated him for god knows how long because you made him choose between me and his own family."

"I didn't...I didn't want 'im to hurt you's," Spot relents, head dropping slightly, "I knew he was goin' back 'n forth between 'ere and 'Hattan, and I knew that he'd end up choosin' them. I figured that if he did it then, 'fore you twos realized how you's felt, then it wouldn't hurt as much. Outta sight outta mind, ya know."

"Think we's established I's can take care o' myself," she says, looking down at her knuckles, "the Delancey's would attest to that too."

Race - once again unable to stop himself like so many other times in his life - takes her hand and presses a gentle kiss to her bruised knuckles, Spot watching.

"I'll tell the boys at the boarder that Race's allowed in," he says, "please, extend my welcome to Jack and the others, s'long as none of you's try sellin' on my turf."

"Wouldn't dream o' it," Race says, smiling, "and that's right back atcha."

Spot nods.

"You's comin' home, Spits? Or you want I should tell the boys you's out with Race?" He questions.

"Nah, gotta rest 'fore the strike tomorrow," she says, resuming her place against the wall, "I'll meet'cha at home, 'kay?"

Spot rolls his eyes at the teens, nodding again before walking off towards the Brooklyn Lodge.

"Even the King o' Brooklyn listens to ya," Race says, bracing himself against the wall once more, "do ya ever not get what you's want?"

Y/N once again rests her hands on the boy's suspenders, pulling him close to her as she smiles up at him.

"Neva," she replies, "may take me a while, but 'ventually I's always get what I want."

Race smirks, his eyes blazing again, but this time with playfulness instead of anger.

"Yeah? And what 'xactly do you's want, Y/N?"

"C'mon Anthony," she teases, "can't you's see it, in my eyes?"

Race breaks first, kissing her again. The feeling of his lips on hers is one she's quickly getting used to, and one she never wants to forget. 

She pulls away this time, lungs screaming for air. The teens stand face to face with heavy breaths and smiles.

"I'll see you's tomorrow, okay?" Y/N asks, biting the inside of her lip.

"You's don't need someone t' walk you's back?" He asks.

"I'll be fine, Racer, go," she says, shaking her head, "tell Jackie boy the good news, and I'll be there tomorrow."

Race captures her lips in a kiss once more, moving away reluctantly after a few seconds.

"Anthony, go," she smiles, lightly pushing him off of her, "and don't get jumped on your way back, Kelly'll kill me."

"I'll see you's tomorrow," he says, pushing some hair behind her ear, "welcome to the revolution."

"Time to bring the world to its knees."


End file.
